


The man I love

by sorryimsooochangeable



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 10:49:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18963745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorryimsooochangeable/pseuds/sorryimsooochangeable
Summary: Some months ago Moran, to revenge Moriarty's death kidnapped DI Lestrade, he took him locked in a secret place and tortured in many ways. Mycroft found Gregory’s prison and went to rescue him, along with Sherlock and John. Moran set a trap to them to separing Sherlock and Mycroft from John and imposed Mycroft to kill Sherlock to save John and Greg. Mycroft found a way to make Moran believe he did it, but he only shot Sherlock on an arm, not causing him actual harm. Then he found Greg and they all found a way to escape. Unfortunately in the meantime Moran treated Greg very bad, leaving on him the sign of his teeth.The following story tells how Mycroft managed to make Gregory rest and try to forget the awful adventure, taking him to a cottage in the south of France.





	The man I love

**Author's Note:**

> That's my second Mystrade ff. I do hope you all will enjoy the reading. One day I'll try to write the prequel I briefly narrated in the summary.

Provence…to both of them it didn’t seem possible to really be there.   
They had decided that vacation in half an hour and two hours later they were on the plane.   
They needed to get away from their daily lives for a few days, leaving behind all the horrible things happened in the previous 48 hours, and they could never have done it separately.   
They knew perfectly well that they had to seize that opportunity to escape from the chaos and find serenity together.  
Implicit but no less important: those days would have served to get to know each other better and to reinforce their relationship, which even seemed risky to call a relationship, to understand each other and accept each other without external pressure and without fear, far from their roles in society, imposed or chosen.  
\- This house is lovely, don’t you think?  
Mycroft pointed it out with his inseparable umbrella, from the beginning of the small path. Greg smiled at that gesture, apparently so formal and detached, but so typical of Mycroft that it filled his heart with tenderness towards the man whose fragility and weaknesses he knew well, aspects that made him dear because they allowed Greg to consider him “his own”.  
There, mr. Holmes “great mind” of the Government could have given way to Mycroft, a planet almost unexplored, fascinating and mysterious as only a soul as deep as his could be.  
\- It seems to come out of a fairy tale – Greg immediately regretted that somewhat trivial comment, but saw Mycroft’s face light up, then he forgot his sense of inadequacy and smiled at him. They exchanged a brief but intense look, then turned away in unison, slightly embarrassed.  
Mycroft cleared his throat and led the way towards the door of the house, followed by Greg, who struggled to hide the childlike joy that had taken possession of him.  
When they opened the door they were enchanted to admire that jewel of a house. After a small vestibule, a bright sitting room opened up with an entire glass wall. On the right, a folding door led into the kitchen in a rustic style, with white and blue majolica tiles and white furniture with marble shelves.  
In the center of the table stood a large crystal vase full of lavender flowers, like those in the endless fields they had admired coming. They looked into each other’s eyes again and this time it was a look full of cheerful complicity, because they knew they had the same thought. They went back through the vestibule to head into the night area of the house, passing by the study and wardrobe, finally arriving in the large bedroom. Mycroft entered casually as Gregory froze in the doorway.  
\- Give me your luggage too, so I put it on the chest.  
Not getting an answer Mycroft turned and saw Greg motionless and red in the face. Then he hastened to add:  
\- Or you can do it, while I bring my own in the study and prepare the sofa bed.  
He quickly grabbed his trolley and started to leave the room, but Greg stopped him gently taking his wrist.  
\- No need, we can both sleep here. The sofa bed will certainly be less comfortable. That’s okay.  
He spoke in jerks, trying to mask the conflicting emotions stirring in him. Mycroft stood still but turned at the end of that brief nervous speech, looking first at the hand holding his wrist, then at Gregory’s face, eventually staring at his lips, which were trembling imperceptibly.  
\- You don’t have to feel obligated   
Mycroft whispered.  
\- I don’t feel like that…I simply don’t want you to sleep there.  
\- Okay – Mycroft put his luggage back next to the inspector’s one…inspector? In that moment there wasn’t much left of the detective from Scotland Yard: in that room he saw a young man with graying hair but with eyes as bright as those of a boy, cheeks still flushed. Mycroft felt himself flooded with tenderness. He would have embraced him in a rush, but he stopped himself, not to embarrass Greg even more.  
\- Let's prepare something for dinner. Madame Lambert said she filled the fridge...what would you fancy?  
Gregory watched him sailing like a light vessel towards the kitchen and couldn't help smiling thinking of who was saying those words to him.  
\- Are you telling me you can cook?  
Mycroft gave him a falsely offended gaze.  
\- Of course I can cook! Who do you think you're dealing with?  
\- Well, with someone who never had to worry about what to make for dinner, I'd say.   
He grinned.  
\- So you are wrong: it's not easy to find really prepared chefs and most of them want to impose their menus. I want to freely decide what to eat and so far I am the only chef who has never let me down!  
Those grievances, made in a serious and solemn tone, were too funny: Greg burst out laughing and Mycroft threw on him the apron he was wearing.  
He grabbed it on the fly, still chuckling.  
\- I believe you, I believe you! But if you allow me I would advise you to go and change: a silk tie for £ 200 and a three pieces suit do not seem like the ideal clothing for cooking!  
Mycroft realized only then that he was actually a bit ridiculous dressed like that in the kitchen of a Provençal house, determined to show off his cooking skills. He coughed a little swear addressed to his companion and rushed into the room to wear something more appropriate to the environment.  
Greg, for his part, was already dressed in a T-shirt and jeans from the start, which made him think about what a couple of bizarrely assorted travelers they must have been, around the airport, and started laughing by himself again.  
After a few minutes, Mycroft returned and immersed himself in dinner preparation.  
Greg tried to propose himself as a helper but Mycroft refused.  
\- Take two beers from the fridge, leave one on the counter and go enjoy yours on the veranda. Soon I’ll call you to set the table, if you want to be useful!  
\- Yes, sir!  
He snapped to attention trying to stay serious, then did as he was told.  
The veranda was delightful! Surrounded by a well-kept garden full of flowers of all kinds, it overlooked a breathtaking view of the countryside. He found himself thinking that to his eyes Mycroft too was so beautiful to take the breath away…he couldn’t recognize himself! He tried imagine how Sherlock would have made fun of him, but maybe he wouldn’t, because he would have been too shocked seeing his brother’s transformation: cold beer, short-sleeved shirt, blue cotton trousers and kitchen apron!  
Indeed...who was that guy there? Certainly not Sir Holmes the major, responsible for the security of the British government! But he'd liked this version so much! In fact he preferred it, because that was more like him and with this Mycroft, Greg wasn't afraid of making him ashamed. His damn inferiority complex! Now, then, after the misadventures he had just passed, it was even worse: he, Detective Inspector of Scotland Yard, had been caught like an idiot by that criminal called Moran. He had been kidnapped like a fairytale princess and then...  
He shook his head forcefully at the appearance of that thought. He felt his chest burn at various points and his pride burning even more. His eyes filled with tears of anger, especially against himself because with his incapacity he had endangered all his friends, those who now were a true family, to him.  
And the wonderful man who was cooking for him had to shoot his brother to save them all, to save him! In a few moments he had passed from serenity to a profound sadness…it was the voice of Mycroft, once again, that saved him.  
\- So? Come and get things for the table? It’s ready in five minutes!  
\- Yeah!  
He promptly raised himself and rushed into the kitchen.  
Dinner was delicious. Mycroft had not exaggerated his talents: in a time that seemed very short to Greg, he had prepared a wonderful fish soup, a colorful salad and caramel pudding! All accompanied by a bottle of Sauterne from an excellent year (according to his chef/sommelier to whom he was ready to blindly believe, given that Greg understood wines as much as Eastern philosophy!).  
They were sipping the last glass of that amber nectar sitting next to each other on the rocking couch, admiring the spectacular landscape that was slowly losing its outlines as the sun set, and both felt themselves in heaven.  
\- Tell me Mycroft: is there anything you can’t do perfectly?  
\- Do you try to flatter me in the hope that you will avoid washing the dishes?  
They chuckled softly as they heard their voices harmonize spontaneously. They looked into each other’s eyes as their light laughter faded and suddenly they became very serious. Keeping their eyes chained, they approached in slow motion, like the protagonists of a romantic movie, while Mycroft passed an arm around Gregory’s shoulders.  
When their lips touched they were crossed by a shiver...it wasn't their first kiss, but in some way it was, because they had never been aware of themselves, of their feelings and of the incredible sensations they gave each other, as they were at that moment.  
They parted slightly, making the foreheads touch, and Mycroft whispered:  
\- Are you tired…? Do you want to go to sleep?  
Greg could not open his eyes, but not because of the weariness that was also objectively assaulting him. He answered only  
"Yes", he too in a whisper.  
They reached the room, walking in each other's arms, almost in a trance. But the sight of the large four-poster bed with the lilac-flowered blanket had the effect of separating them instantly. Both blushed and did not need to be told that they would only sleep that night.  
They silently opened their bags and took their pajamas. They moved synchronized like two dancers in a choreography tried a thousand times. In order not to look at each other or touch themselves they performed measured movements, moving from one side to the other of the room. Mycroft went to the bathroom leaving Greg the privacy to wear the pajamas, but he misjudged the times, or Gregory was slower than expected, because when he came back he had just taken off his shirt. Greg's chest attracted like a magnet the look of his companion who felt himself dying at the sight of the marks that marked him, still purple. Greg remained petrified sitting on the bed, with his pajamas shirt in his hands. His eyes widened as he saw the expression on Mycroft's face and wished to vanish into thin air. He tried to cover his chest but it no longer made sense...the image of his battered skin had certainly impressed itself indelibly on Mycroft's mind and this thought devastated Greg. The tears he had previously managed to push back filled his eyes in an instant and began to roll down his cheeks, unstoppable and burning, he painfully felt the salt on his tortured lips, wounded by his own teeth.  
He closed his eyelids feeling stupid, ridiculous, and disgusting, so he didn’t notice that Mycroft had joined him until he felt the mattress lower as he sat down next to him. He winced but did not open his eyes. Then he felt that with the tips of his fingers Mycroft was caressing the wounds of those infamous bites like one touches a precious relic. He was overwhelmed by an unsustainable wave of emotions. He began to sob like a desperate child, feeling even more stupid. Mycroft moved his hand away thinking he had hurt him.  
\- Forgive me, do they give you much pain?  
Greg’s sobs calmed down, so he managed to answer:  
\- Just a little, but you didn’t hurt me.  
\- I made you burst into sobs…  
\- It’s because feeling you so delicately touch the signs that disfigure me and that will always remember you what happened, it upset me. It seemed that they didn’t make you feel the disgust they should give you. It seemed that you loved my skin despite everything, despite the fact that that monster treated it as if it belonged to him and not to you…it can’t be true!  
As Greg spoke, Mycroft began unconsciously tightening his fists, until his knuckles whitened. He squeezed his eyes trying to regain control, feeling an anger he had never felt before, mounting unrestrained, invading his mind and heart. If he had Moran in his hands at that moment it would have taken him a few seconds to kill him, to do him in tatters. How had he allowed himself to use that violence to the man he loved?  
Like a flash the last words he thought crossed his mind and pierced his soul: that was the key to everything…Greg was feeling repulsive…he, Mycroft, had vindictive murderous instincts… But in all of that the only important thing was one:  
“I love you,” he said aloud.  
He opened his eyes and saw in front of him those, reddened and upset, of his man.  
\- I love you - he repeated staring at him intently, trying to convey to him all the strength that that awareness gave him, to make him understand that in that "I love you" there were all the words he wanted to tell him to make him feel better and make him feel that next to him Greg should never again have to feel alone or despised, that they were now a "us " and therefore were indestructible.  
And Greg understood. From his face all traces of pain disappeared, as if a hot wind had swept away the evil. He took a deep breath and kept looking at Mycroft, then smiled, stroked his cheek and said:  
\- I love you, Mycroft  
They hugged tightly for a few moments. Then Mycroft helped him put on his jacket, silently stretched out on the bed and Mycroft's arms wrapped Gregory's protective and possessive.  
"It will be a beautiful vacation," Greg said in a whisper before slipping into sleep. Mycroft smiled kissing Greg's short hair:  
\- And a beautiful life - he whispered between those silver and black wires and, letting himself be lulled by the regular breathing of his companion, he finally allowed himself a tear that ran quickly through the cheekbone and stopped at the corner of his mouth, but he could tell himself he dreamed it, because he was already sleeping too.


End file.
